


Under the Big Blue Sky

by olivejuice28



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Co-workers to Friends, Cowboys, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Secret Crush, undercover aurors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23080513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivejuice28/pseuds/olivejuice28
Summary: Sometimes all it takes is a change of scenery to reveal a heart's deepest desire.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 30
Kudos: 115





	Under the Big Blue Sky

The bed was covered with an odd assortment of items: clothing, toiletries, paperwork, books, electronic devices, snacks, and several pairs of cowboy boots. She snorted every time she saw them, wondering how her best friend had managed to talk her into buying not one, but _three_ pairs. Harry had come home on break from his latest mission bursting with tales of his adventures in the “wild west” and extremely insistent about her need to fully immerse herself in the culture of the region. Hence, the cowboy boots. She had vehemently drawn the line when he tried to put a white Stetson on her head, however, regardless of his dire warnings about protecting herself from the blazing sun. It wasn’t like she was going to be out on a cattle drive or anything of the sort. She was simply there to help tie up loose ends.

Hermione paused the unpacking of her trusty beaded bag to gaze out the window once more. As much as she loved her home in Britain, and found a certain beauty in the ancient architecture and quaint cobblestone that defined her corner of the world, the untamed and untouched wilderness that stretched out for miles around the farmhouse she was currently staying in was indescribably wonderful. Harry and the team had been out here for three months as part of a joint covert assignment with MACUSA to bring in a wanted wizard, and it was all just days away from culminating, hopefully with his capture and arrest. Her job, as one of the top crime investigators in the DMLE, was to make sure everything followed protocol; that all evidence was collected, all forms were completed, all i’s dotted and t’s crossed, everyone’s statements taken, and a nice, neat file folder presented to the head of the department as soon as possible. While she had no desire to roam the countryside chasing bad guys, like Harry and the others, it did bring her a deep sense of satisfaction to see justice done and another case closed, especially when it pertained to someone as devious and unsavory as the wizard they were currently after.

One of the Wizarding World’s most notorious criminals, a dragon smuggler and illegal potions dealer by the name of Aiolos Carrow (yes, those Carrows) had fled Britain in the wake of the Second War, only to be discovered completely by accident eight years later on a cattle ranch in Nebraska, of all places. Apparently, while his older siblings were bowing to the Dark Lord’s every command, baby brother was creating quite a name for himself on the magical black market. Unsurprisingly, many of his best customers were fans and followers of the nose-less bastard, and were willing to throw anyone under the Knight Bus if they thought it would get them a lesser sentence once the trials began. Hearing his name mentioned one too many times in dark corners, as the _Prophet’s_ headlines boasted the latest additions to Azkaban’s halls, forced him to cut his losses and throw the Ministry hounds off his trail.

Aiolos had arrived in New York City first, but found the high-tech, constantly-bustling metropolis far too chaotic for his liking and decided to head west. He’d heard it was quieter out there, with big blue skies and wide open spaces and he figured he’d try his luck. His luck lasted exactly eight years, three months, and sixteen days since he’d left the dingy backstreets of Knockturn Alley, and he had built quite a life for himself out on the plains. He had no idea that his run-in with a pretty little brunette last winter had begun the unraveling of his secret existence, or that he was currently under surveillance by a small team of Aurors, or that he worked side-by-side every day with one of the best agents the Ministry had ever employed. No, as far as Aiolos (or “Olos,” as he’d told everyone to call him), was concerned, no one from his former life knew where he was, and no one from his new life suspected he was a wizard, or a wanted criminal in another country, or that he still found a way to hustle on the side even while ropin’ and ridin’ six days a week.

It was his apparent inability to live a completely upstanding, illegal-activity-free life that was his downfall. Even though he was paid decently by the ranch boss, even though he had food, shelter, friends, and the breathtaking view of Panorama Point to count among his blessings, he couldn’t seem to keep from getting his hands dirty. About two years into his time at the ranch, he’d made the three-hour trip to Denver to see if he could find the hidden magical community there. Not only had he found his kind, he’d also found a booming underground trade consisting of all manner of illegal and illicit items. He asked the right questions and was back in the game in no time, but instead of drugs and dragons, now he dealt with weapons. While he’d seen his fair share of cursed blades, enchanted bindings, and magical explosives, he’d never seen anything like the firearms these blokes came up with. A combination of muggle guns and dark curses created an arsenal more powerful and destructive than the world had ever seen; pistols that fire curses, not bullets, rifles that shoot spells three times as far as a wand, and that won’t activate until they hit their mark. Terrifyingly dangerous, and incredibly profitable. Aiolos was sitting on a pile of gold bigger than his brother and sister had ever dreamt of, and he was currently concocting a plan to rub it in their faces as they rotted away in Azkaban. They’d always mocked him and told him how stupid and cowardly he was not to join the ranks of the Dark Lord. Well, look how that turned out for them. He had one last transaction to complete before he would be on his way, and it was the biggest one yet.

ooOoo

Harry had told Hermione to prepare for lots of blue jeans and ‘yes ma’ams’ and cow stink. He had also warned her that there weren’t a lot of women out on the ranch, and that aside from the boss, only two of the thirteen hands were married, and the rest of them were very open to the idea. She’d laughed him off, believing him to be exaggerating until she walked through the door of the large dining room where the men had all gathered for dinner. She’d heard their loud chatter and boisterous laughter as she’d climbed the steps of the front porch, but as soon as she followed her raven-haired friend over the threshold you could’ve heard a pin drop. Twelve pairs of eyes were fixed on her as forks froze mid-way to their owners’ mouths and hands stilled around jars of tea, since even the married ones were shocked to see another female in their midst. All at once, eleven chairs scraped back and their occupants stood in greeting, the twelfth moving slightly slower, his slate-grey eyes filled with mirth and never leaving her own as a lopsided grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

While Harry raised a hand in greeting, she mentally shook herself. She knew Draco would be here, of course, he was the best undercover agent in the Auror Department, but seeing him so relaxed, in a plaid flannel shirt, with his hair a darker shade of blonde, and his face slightly scruffy, had been…unexpected. She forced her attention back to the present as Harry was introducing her as his cousin, visiting from England. They had decided this would be easiest, and would prevent her from having to learn to disguise her accent like several of the other team members had been told to. Through a very convoluted series of events and strategically planned circumstances, not to mention small amounts of _Confundus_ charms, the ranch boss and eleven of his hands simply thought Draco was a regular cowboy, and that Harry was the grandson of another rancher who’d died years ago and left the land to him. Land that currently held a lovely white, two-story farmhouse with a wraparound porch that housed their entire Auror team and all their equipment. The ranchers joked that Harry was a city-slicker, since he couldn’t quite carry off the relaxed mannerisms of a good ole’ boy, but it provided a good cover for the fact that he still sometimes slipped and used phrases that were far too polite, or that he was constantly pushing his glasses up his nose, a nervous habit he’d never been able to break. They also were none-the-wiser that the thirteenth member of their crew, Aiolos Carrow, was a magical criminal.

Harry never appeared when “Olos” was around, owing to the fact that he was far too famous in the Wizarding World and would ruin their cover as soon as the dark wizard laid his beady little eyes on the Chosen One. Draco, on the other hand, was not nearly as well-known outside his family’s circle, and had only required mild modifications, such as his hair color and a few days without a razor to disguise his true form. No longer the skinny, sharp-angled boy of his youth, his broader frame and filled-out face hid his identity all on its own and Hermione definitely appreciated the change. They’d been working together in the DMLE for over six years now, and ran in the same social circles. Their relationship had started as simply one of civil coworkers, but had quickly evolved into a friendship filled with snarky quips, flirtatious banter, and inside jokes. They got on amazingly well and while their friends all secretly wondered why they weren’t together, they each simply refused to ruin such a good thing by throwing romance into the mix, even though they had both often (read – many more times than they’d ever admit) wondered what it would feel like to kiss the other, or be wrapped in the other’s arms, or wake up beside the other the next morning.

Hermione was perfectly willing to admit the former Slytherin Prince was attractive; anyone with eyes could see that. She’d also always known he was highly intelligent and wasn’t the least bit surprised when he’d flown through Auror training two years after Harry, and was immediately chosen for one of the top teams in the department. What had caught her off guard, however, was how incredibly good he was at his job. Not how neat and orderly he kept his desk (which she appreciated), or how thorough his reports were (which was very helpful), or how quickly he was able to devise a solid tactical plan (something that never failed to impress her), but how seamlessly he conformed to whatever role he was given as he set out on an undercover assignment. She had watched him become a homeless beggar, a drunken bar-brawler, an uptight school teacher, a member of Russian royalty, a computer geek, a five-star chef, and something akin to a ninja warrior, among countless other personas. While physical alterations were always part of the disguise, the way he adopted the necessary accents and mannerisms was what really sold it and he was always spot on. It should have come as no surprise that he would fill the part of a mid-west ranch hand with equal perfection, yet seeing him in denims and boots, with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his skin lightly tanned had done something to her insides that she wasn’t quite willing to unpack.

Their meal was simple yet satisfying, and the air was filled with vivid descriptions of life on the plains, each ranch hand vying for Hermione’s attention as he tried to one-up whatever tale his buddy had just spun. The one seated across from her winked every time she happened to look his way, and the one on her left kept inching closer, to the point where she was literally sharing Harry’s chair by the end of the meal. The cowpoke next to the winker repeatedly offered her rolls from the basket beside his plate, or another glass of tea, or anything else she needed and she gave up replying with more than a shake of her head, otherwise she’d never get to eat the food she already had in front of her. The two down at the end by Draco were talking loudly enough for her to hear them, which was completely intentional, and were shamelessly extolling her favorable attributes. At one point, Draco choked on a forkful of beans when they launched into a debate as to whether her eyes were more like “a glass of whiskey when the sun shines on it,” or “the caramel sauce on my mama’s apple pie.” After that, she refused to even glance in their general direction, which only seemed to amuse her former schoolmate further. When supper with the rowdy yet friendly bunch was over, everyone cleaned up and ambled off to their respective activities, each of the men tipping their hat and bidding Hermione farewell, and two of them circling around more than once to do so. Once the door banged shut behind the last one, Harry and Draco burst into laughter and Hermione’s cheeks flamed in embarrassment from all the attention.

“I did warn you,” Harry chuckled, removing his glasses to wipe his eyes.

“Yes, but I didn’t realize just quite how starved they must be for female attention,” Hermione covered her face with her hands as she recalled the blatant attempts from several of the men to garner her interest. “I’ve never been so mortified in my entire life,” she groaned into her palms.

“Aw, don’t you worry, darlin’, they’re harmless as boxelder bugs,” the low, sultry drawl uttered from Draco shot straight through her, causing a small shiver to travel up her spine as she removed her hands from her face and met his molten stare. He’d moved to sit across from her, in the winker’s seat, and she couldn’t stop her brain from comparing the previous occupant’s pale blue eyes with the sparkling silver set currently boring into her own. She knew she was staring but she couldn’t seem help herself as she tried to decipher the emotions swirling in their depths. A roguish grin spread across his face and she finally blinked and turned her attention to Harry, who had pulled out the case file and was spreading papers all over the table.

“Everything is all set for tomorrow,” Harry pointed to the timetable he’d created that showed exactly where each member of their team was supposed to be at various points throughout the day. “If it goes according to plan, we’ll have Aiolos in custody before supper, which I know none of us wants to miss.” He grinned mischievously at his best friend, earning himself an exaggerated eye-roll in response. Since the next day was Sunday, the boss only worked a skeleton crew and the schedule had been set so that Draco and “Olos” would both be off. Their target had left for Denver as soon as his job for the current day had been done, so first thing tomorrow morning, the rest of the Auror team would be heading that way. Draco had spent the last several months tailing the wanted wizard and learning everything he could about the man’s illegal activities. Tomorrow afternoon a very big transaction was supposed to take place between the disguised ranch hand and a dark wizard from Montreal, Laurant, who had struck a deal involving over two dozen lethal weapons. While the team could have captured Aiolos sooner, once they learned of this new connection, they decided to wait and take them both in at the same time, since MACUSA agents had been after the Frenchman for several years. As Harry and Draco discussed last-minute details, Hermione busied herself with organizing the rest of the papers and creating a checklist in her mind of what she needed to set up in what would be their interrogation room once the suspects were brought in.

“Right then, we’re done for the night, I guess,” Harry scrubbed his face with his hand and looked at his watch. “Hermione, let me walk you back and then I should probably call Ginny before she thinks I’m due for another lecture about neglecting my wife.” Draco snorted and Hermione chuckled wryly.

“You know she’s home all day, every day, with only a toddler to talk to. Adult conversation is greatly appreciated,” she patted him on the shoulder, “Just go call her now, I can get back to the house myself.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Draco pushed his chair back and stood, missing the curious look Harry shot him.

Hermione was surprised, but more than pleased with the offer, “Thanks.” She turned to her best friend to find his bright green eyes studying her intently and cocked her head in question. He just shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips as he threw his arm around her in a quick side-hug.

“Okay, see you later then,” and he strode out the door, letting it bang behind him as all the other cowboys had.

“Ready?” Draco asked. She nodded and came around the table, meeting him at the door he was holding open for her. They descended the porch steps and started walking down the long, gravel driveway. The ranch homestead was about a half-mile from the farmhouse Harry and the rest of the team were using, and the distance was made up of flat cattle-grazing land and a sprinkling of trees and taller brush. Their boots kicked up little clouds of dust as they made their way in companionable silence until suddenly, Hermione stopped with her head tilted up, gazing at the night sky.

“It’s so clear out here,” she breathed. “I haven’t seen the stars this bright since we were in Astronomy class.”

“It’s one of my favorite things about being out here,” Draco admitted as he stood next to her, though his eyes were not on the sky above, but on the curly-haired witch beside him. He’d found her attractive for years, and thoroughly enjoyed her company, but had always refrained from pursuing something beyond friendship for fear of losing her completely if it didn’t work out. He’d tried telling himself he only thought of her as a friend, a very close friend, probably his favorite friend if he was honest. Actually, no, if he was being _completely_ honest, he really did want her to be more than a friend, and the attentions of his fellow ranch hands towards her tonight had made that abundantly clear, as the possessive jealousy that rolled over him during supper had made it difficult to choke down his food. Without thinking, he reached out and twirled one of her curls around his finger, causing her to turn her attention back to him.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he smiled and shrugged, deciding to take a tiny risk out there under the star-strewn heavens, “Just happy you’re here.”

Her eyes widened at his unexpected admission, but she recovered in a heartbeat and smiled back, “Me, too.”

They resumed walking towards the farm house, her asking questions about life on the ranch, and him inquiring about events back home. It was comfortable and familiar, yet they both sensed a shift taking place between them that neither was quite brave enough to identify. As they neared the front porch, their steps slowed.

“Good luck tomorrow,” she said as she turned to face him, “I know you won’t need it, you always get your target.” She smiled sweetly at him and his heart thrummed a little.

“Let’s hope that’s a trend I can continue,” he replied, not knowing if she understood he wasn’t just talking about catching bad guys. From the way her deep brown eyes were studying his face, he thought perhaps she did, but just for good measure, he tilted his head slightly in her direction. Her eyes went the tiniest bit wider before she dropped her gaze to the ground and nibbled on her lower lip. If it wasn’t so dark out, he guessed he’d probably see a blush on her cheeks, which gave him a small boost of confidence.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” she tucked her hair behind her ear, a nervous habit he knew she had, and peeked at him through her lashes, her face still tilted down. He crooked his finger under her chin and gently lifted it up so her eyes met his fully.

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled and was rewarded with a hiccup of her breath and a flash of something in her eyes. He took a step back, not wanting to push his luck further, and placed the black Stetson he’d been carrying on his head. She blinked a few times and turned to walk up the front steps before looking at him once more.

“Good night, Draco,” she said softly.

He simply reached up and tipped the brim of his hat in her direction, giving her a lopsided grin before turning and heading off down the gravel drive once more.

Hermione stood frozen on the steps for a few moments, heart racing and cheeks on fire.

_Merlin help me, who knew I had a thing for cowboys?_

ooOoo

The next morning flew by in a flurry of tense and purposeful activity. Draco, Harry, and one of the other team members from home, Terry Boot, left early, wanting to scope out the location of Aiolos’ upcoming transaction. The two other team members, Agents Humphreys and Smith, both from MACUSA, hung back until Harry let them know it was time to join them, which meant they’d been successful in locating their target and knew exactly where to stake everyone. That left Hermione and one remaining member of the team, Tracey Davis, who had actually been the one to discover Aiolos in the first place. Tracey specialized in the retrieval of stolen or smuggled magical creatures, and had been following a lead on an illegal crup-breeding ring in Denver when she’d literally run into the faux cowboy. She’d been leaving a local grocery store one evening when she accidentally caught her shoe on the rubber mat by the door, and had tripped forward, only to be caught in the rough hands of a paunchy cowpoke. She’d apologized for her clumsiness, and he’d waved it off good-naturedly, but something about his face, hidden as it was under the wide brim of his worn, dusty hat, had stuck with her. Unable to shake the suspicion that she’d seen him before, she started rifling through old files once back in London. When she came across pictures of Amycus and Alecto, taken upon their arrest years before, she knew he had to be their infamous and supposedly dead younger brother. Bringing her discovery to the attention of Harry and his team, a formal case was officially opened, thus leading them to the present moment.

“I’ll be glad when this one’s done,” Tracey yawned and stretched after helping Hermione finish arranging their soon-to-be interrogation room. “This is the second stint I’ve spent out here in less than a year and I’m ready to head home.” Both witches wandered into the kitchen for refills of coffee before heading out to sit on the front porch.

“It’s beautiful here,” Hermione mused as they settled themselves on matching wooden rockers, “So peaceful.” The only sound that could be heard was the fluttering of leaves on the one tree in the front yard, a birdsong from high above, and the distant lowing of cattle.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous, but I don’t particularly like how empty this is,” Tracey waved her hand to indicate the vast space that stretched before them, “I feel far too exposed.”

“It’s definitely wide open,” Hermione agreed, though she didn’t mind the expanse. In fact, it felt rather freeing, like possibilities were just beckoning with such room to flourish.

As they sat and drank their coffee, chatting amicably about various experiences throughout their years in the DMLE, a disturbance in the air around them alerted them to a shift in the magical wards. They rushed back inside the house to find Harry standing in the middle of the front room, panting heavily, his wand raised and aimed at Aiolos Carrow, who was struggling against the hold Agent Humphreys had on him, roaring threats and obscenities without pause. As his beady eyes wildly scanned the room for a way to escape, they landed on Tracey and widened in shock.

“You!” he bellowed in angry surprise. Tracey simply smirked and folded her arms in response, not bothering to address him further.

“ _Stupefy_!” Harry stunned the criminal, more to shut him up and give the other Auror a break from manhandling him than anything else. Hermione immediately summoned the captive’s wand and any other items currently on his person with a neat little spell she’d designed that allowed them to gather anything that wasn’t considered an article of clothing off of suspects without having to actually touch them. Along with Aiolos’ personal wand, a second one came soaring out of his pocket, as well as what appeared to be a portkey, a pouch of Instant Darkness, a vial of an unidentified potion, and a wallet containing his fake Muggle I.D.

“Put him in the interrogation room and set the wards,” Harry instructed and Humphreys dragged the now unconscious man away.

“Where’s everyone else?” Tracey asked, and Hermione was glad since the first thing she had noticed was that one particular agent had not returned. She busied herself with setting the confiscated objects on the counter while attempting to calm her gradually accelerating heart-rate.

“Tracking an accomplice,” Harry heaved a deep sigh and lowered himself into a chair at the small kitchen table. “Everything was going according to plan until a friend of Laurant’s showed up right smack in the middle of us getting our wands on him.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and carded his fingers through his already messy hair. “Aiolos was already bound, and Malfoy was aiming to _Incarcerous_ Laurant when this bloke came barging through the door. He stunned Boot, disarmed Malfoy, Humphreys and Smith, and took off. He didn’t see me, so I was able to stun Laurant before he got away. Boot should be arriving any…”

_CRACK_

Once again, the air moved and two more wizards appeared before them. Terry Boot, sporting a bloody nose and two black eyes, and a burly, bald-headed wizard with blood dripping from his forehead and a menacing glare on his face.

“What happened?” Hermione rushed forward, her wand already twirling in a delicate arc as the newcomer’s belongings sailed through the air and into her waiting hands. She started a new evidence arrangement on the opposite counter with the wand, several small knives, set of keys, and bottle of what looked like the same potion Aiolos had been carrying, that had been lifted off the second wizard.

“Head-butted me when I grabbed his arm to disapparate,” Terry’s voice was nasal from the damage but a triumphant smirk spread across his bruised visage nonetheless. “Cast _Langlock_ though, so he can’t scream at anyone anymore, and I might have used a few well-placed stinging hexes.”

Harry nodded briskly and yanked the dark wizard forward, “Let Hermione fix you up, Boot, I’ll put him in the other room.” Though the apprehended man was much bigger than Harry, he was no match for the petrifying and levitating charms the Chosen One sent his way, and was dragged down the hall seething in silence. Tracey followed to assist if needed.

Once Terry had been set to rights, and Harry had returned, Hermione couldn’t hold back her inquiries any longer.

“Where’s Draco?”

“He and Smith took off after the unexpected intruder,” Harry explained.

“But where _are they_?” Hermione was not the least bit placated by that obvious answer.

“I honestly don’t know. They could still be sprinting down the back alleyways of Denver, or they could have disapparated to another state, or they could be stunned and lying,” but she cut him off with a finger pointed very close to the bridge of his nose, causing his emerald eyes to cross.

“That’s not helpful, Harry,” she grit out before stalking out the front door and down the steps.

She knew both Aurors were more than qualified to deal with the unexpected change in events, and that even up against the most vicious criminals, Draco could hold his own. It didn’t stop her from worrying, however. This was one of the reasons she preferred her desk job to being out on a mission; the danger was far too close for comfort and the inability to act on her fears made it all that much worse. She hated thinking about any of their team being in danger, but especially Harry, who was closer than a brother to her, and Draco who was…he was…what even _was_ he to her? Definitely her friend, but there was more to it. There had been more to it for a couple of years now, and while she’d been staunchly avoiding deciphering the hidden meanings behind certain glances or comments, the exchange last night was quite impossible to ignore.

She threw her head back and glowered at the wide, blue sky above her, knowing it would do absolutely no good to try to sift through her complicated feelings towards the tall blonde in the middle of all that was happening. Closing her eyes and taking several deep breaths, she heard the door open and close behind her and could tell by the scuffing of the boots that Harry had followed her.

“He’ll be fine,” was all he said, but she heard the determination in his voice that was always there as the lead Auror on a mission. Harry prided himself on never losing an agent. He was unrelenting in his desire to make sure every person under his watch was accounted for at the end of the day, whether his own team members, auxiliary support, or the targets they were bringing in. Before she could do more than nod, however, the wards shifted once more and both of them hurried back into the house.

Auror Smith was doubled over in the same spot Terry had landed in just minutes earlier, heaving deep gulping breaths and clutching his midsection, his face contorted with pain.

“What happened?” Harry rushed to the man’s side and helped ease him into a nearby chair.

“Cursed,” was all the injured agent could grit out. He moved his arm and Hermione could see the side of his shirt was torn open, and an ugly purple slash grazed his torso from just under his left arm, down to his lower abdomen on the right side. As Harry moved to help him lean back, Smith passed out and slumped over.

“Get him in a bed,” Harry nodded at Terry, who immediately lept into action, levitating the unconscious Smith and directing him towards a bedroom down the hall. “That looked like the same curse,” he turned his attention back to Hermione who nodded grimly.

“Dolohov.”

“Can you help him?” Bright green eyes filled with concern as they looked imploringly at the curly-haired witch.

“Yes, let me get the medic bag,” Hermione rushed to the counter in the kitchen, grabbed the large black duffel, and made a beeline for the hall.

Harry turned as Agent Humphreys returned to the front room, followed by Tracey.

“What now?” Humphreys asked.

“We’re going to need to take Aiolos in as soon as possible. Laurant is yours to deal with as you see fit. I’m going to need to leave a few team members here until Malfoy returns, with or without the third suspect.” Harry sighed, not liking the idea of splitting up his team but knowing he couldn’t keep their target sitting here. The more magical signatures present in a Muggle area, the more likely it was that their cover would be blown.

Humphrey’s nodded, “Do you think Smith will be able to disapparate or portkey tonight?”

“I’m really not sure,” Harry answered honestly. “He was hit with a nasty curse, but Hermione is familiar with it and if anyone can set him to rights, it’s her.”

“If it’s okay with you, I’ll just go ahead and bring Laurant in myself and get all the paperwork done at headquarters.”

“That’s fine,” Harry nodded, “Do you need help?”

“No, but I am going to send another agent out here to keep an eye on Smith, that way your people won’t be tied up on watch duty if you need them.”

“That’d be great,” Harry replied sincerely and offered his hand to the MACUSA agent who grasped it firmly and shook it.

“Thanks for your help with this. I don’t know how long it would’ve taken us to find Laurant if your guy wasn’t connected to him,” Smith sighed tiredly but smirked appreciatively.

“Thanks for letting us set up out here and for the additional support. We could have been stuck on this case a lot longer, too.”

With that, Humphreys nodded and went back down the hall, returning almost immediately with a still bound and silenced Laurant who was positively apoplectic with rage, his face an interesting shade of purple as he fought against the magic that restrained him. Harry rifled through the files on the large kitchen table, stacked everything pertaining to the MACUSA case in one pile and shrank it down to fit in a small envelope, which the American agent then put in his pocket.

“Good luck,” he looked first at Tracey and then at Harry before turning on the spot and vanishing from view.

Terry, who had left the room to wash the blood off his face, returned just as Hermione came bustling around the corner and both asked at the same time, “What was that?” referring to the shift in the wards caused by the recent disapparation.

Tracey filled them in, and while Hermione was glad to have one less criminal under their roof, the fact that Draco was still gone, and was now the only one tracking their new target bothered her.

“How is Smith?” Harry asked her once the update was done.

“He’s resting,” Hermione sighed. “Since I was able to treat him much sooner, it hadn’t spread very far below the surface yet. He should be fine in a few hours.” She met Harry’s eyes and a look of understanding passed between them.

“We going to take Aiolos in now, or wait?” Terry asked.

“Yeah, we need to take him now,” Harry paused for a moment, clearly deliberating the best way to handle the unusual circumstances.

“Tracey, do you think you can take him back yourself? We’ve got an emergency portkey here that you can use.”

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” the brunette witch stood a little taller and spoke confidently. Harry smiled appreciatively, knowing Tracey didn’t often get opportunities like this since most of her work focused on magical creatures, not dangerous criminals. The only reason she was even assigned this particular case was because she was so familiar with the city of Denver and the surrounding area after her previous mission.

“Right then,” Harry turned to Terry and Hermione, “Boot, you and I need to get back to the warehouse and see if we can track Malfoy and Laurant’s friend from there. Hermione, are you okay to stay here with Smith on your own?” Hermione nodded, not really seeing any other option, but glad to keep vigil if the others were going after Draco.

“Humphreys said he was sending another agent to help with Smith, so if someone from MACUSA shows up, don’t be alarmed,” Harry continued.

“Okay,” Hermione nodded and stepped back as the two wizards gathered a few supplies and prepared to disapparate once more.

Bright green eyes bore into her own, “We’ll find him,” were Harry’s last words of assurance before he and Terry vanished on the spot.

ooOoo

Several hours had gone by and Hermione had passed the time by reading over the files still on the table, bagging and labeling everything she’d collected from the dark wizards they’d brought in, reorganizing the kitchen drawers (who keeps silverware with tape and scissors, for Merlin’s sake), and regularly checking in on the wounded agent in the next room. Smith was still asleep, and had only marginally woken the last time she’d gone in to check his vitals and get some water down his throat. She went upstairs and wandered through the bedrooms, cleaned all three of the bathrooms the Muggle way, and was currently pacing the floor in the front room when a loud _CRACK_ split the air, causing her to jump and whip her wand out of its holster before she could even register who had appeared.

“Terry?” she questioned her former classmate, who seemed rather winded and a little dazed as he held up a finger asking for a minute to compose himself.

“We found them,” he panted, “But we can’t get to them. We need backup.”

“What do you mean you can’t get to them?” she couldn’t keep the panic out of her voice and honestly didn’t care if Terry noticed.

“Laurant’s partner led Malfoy to a different warehouse just outside Denver. We aren’t sure how Malfoy got in there, because the wards are thicker than a concrete wall, but he sent Potter a coin message saying he was hiding on the second floor and that the wizard he’d followed didn’t seem to know he was there.”

Hermione couldn’t help the smirk of pride that crossed her face at the mention of the coins. The DMLE had adopted the idea of the protean coins that she had created for Dumbledore’s Army all those years ago. In situations where patronuses and other forms of magical messages could be detected, the coins were an ideal solution. She had introduced a type of shorthand using common phrases that were often heard in the field, and had also allowed for more room on the surface of the coins, so the messages could be longer than simply a date or time. She had never been more thankful for her over-active brain than in this moment.

“Where’s Harry?”

“Still there, currently on the roof of the building, trying to find a way in.”

“Are you sending for backup from here?” Hermione tried to figure out how long it would take to get more agents from the Ministry and it didn’t seem like a promising idea.

“Yes, but from MACUSA, since they have an office nearby. We were hoping Humphreys would have sent someone by now, so we could…”

_CRACK_

An unknown wizard appeared in their midst, and two wands were immediately pointed at his throat. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and introduced himself.

“Auror Randolph, MACUSA office twenty-seven, Humphrey’s sent me to check on Smith.”

“Password?” Terry maintained his stance, wand still raised.

“Honkytonk,” Randolph grinned and all three agents rolled their eyes as the British pair lowered their wands and shook hands with the newcomer. While passwords were necessary, Harry seemed to have a fondness for ridiculous phrases that highlighted stereotypes of the location of missions. Apparently, in the Golden Hero’s mind, cowboys and honkytonks went together just as well as dark wizards from Italy and pepperoni pizza, or crazy witches in Paris and baguettes. Draco had been in fits after a mission in Switzerland where Harry had actually made the team “yodel-aye-hee-hoo” as their password.

“How is Smith?” Randolph asked, clearly concerned for his fellow agent.

“Resting,” Hermione stepped towards the hall and gestured for the man to follow her. After a thorough explanation of what had happened and how the Auror had been treated for injuries, both she and Randolph went back into the front room, where Terry was listening intently to the words a silver stag was speaking in Harry’s voice. The patronus vanished as they reached the spot where it had been, both looking at Terry for an update.

“Potter found a way into the warehouse but needs backup. There’s two other blokes in there with Laurant’s friend, all presumably part of whatever deal was going down. He’s ordered us,” Terry gestured between himself and the MACUSA agent, “to report there as soon as possible.”

Randolph nodded his head and turned to Hermione, “I’m guessing he means for you to stay here with Smith?”

Hermione nodded, knowing full well that Harry wouldn’t call her to a bust unless he was absolutely desperate. She might be an extremely powerful witch, but combat was not her strong suit, and he knew her aversion to it since the war.

Without further ado, Terry clapped a hand on Randolph’s shoulder and the two men vanished from sight, leaving Hermione alone once again.

Since she had already cleaned and organized everything there was to, she decided some fresh air might be good. She placed a charm on the room Smith was sleeping in, so she would be alerted as soon as he woke up, refilled her coffee mug, and went out the back door instead of the front this time. About thirty paces from the back steps of the charming farmhouse was a creek that ran through the entire property, all the way onto the ranch she’d visited the night before. She wandered out to its bank and sat down in the shade of one of the handful of trees back there, thankful for the peaceful sounds of nature and the calming presence they had on her increasingly frayed nerves.

Every time the wards shifted that day, her heart had leapt into her throat and she’d expected to see Draco beaten, bloodied, or wounded in some other way. Every time it wasn’t him, and she experienced both a dizzying flood of relief and a gut-clenching spasm of fear. Where was he? And even more pressing on her mind, why was she so concerned? That was the question of the moment, though, and as Hermione sat by the swiftly-moving water, she mulled that thought over. Obviously, Draco was her friend and she was just as worried about him as she was about Harry every time she knew danger was present. He was also her coworker, and she would hate for any member of their department to come to any harm. Try as she might to convince herself that was all it was, however, she knew there was more to it.

They had danced around each other for years, allowing their teasing words and knowing smirks to convey feelings that were brewing just below the surface, but neither willing to take that first step over the invisible line of friendship that had been drawn. She thought back to the office Christmas party just six months prior, and couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face at the memory of him pulling her under the mistletoe and joking that she was the only female that would allow him to get close enough to kiss her. He’d wrapped his arm around her waist and nuzzled her cheek with his nose before placing a lingering kiss there. It was soft and sweet, and in no way passionate or inappropriate, but she had been sorry to pull away after giving him a friendly squeeze and giggling at his antics. She knew his statement had been a load of toss, too, as there were at least a half dozen witches in the department who would follow him home any night of the week if he’d only extend the invitation. The fact remained that he never did.

She pondered that for a moment, trying to remember the last time he had mentioned going on a date, or meeting someone new, or anything at all having to do with female companionship. She remembered he’d brought a witch from the Department of Magical Catastrophes to a coworker’s wedding, but that had been three years ago now. Or was it four? Either way, it had been quite some time since she’d been aware of any activity of the sort and wondered what had brought about his seemingly self-imposed single-ness. Granted, she hadn’t gone out with anyone in a few years herself, quite content to attend work parties and other functions alone, knowing she’d meet up with friends once she’d arrived. Upon further reflection, though, she realized that for the last two or three years, those “friends” she met up with really turned out to be one specific friend. One tall, blonde, ridiculously attractive, irreverently witty, and genuinely enjoyable friend.

_Good Godric, I’ve fallen for him._

Hermione stared unseeingly at the windswept grass on the opposite bank, grappling with what this revelation meant and wondering what on Earth she was going to do about it.

ooOoo

As afternoon wore into evening, Agent Smith woke up feeling much better and rather hungry. Thankful for the distraction, Hermione set about helping him get out of bed and settled comfortably into the living room before determining the best way to go about getting him something to eat. Even though the farmhouse was the base for the Auror team, there wasn’t a whole lot of food to be found in the cupboards or fridge. Well, not much to make an actual meal with, anyway. Harry had stocked the shelves with crisps, biscuits, pretzels, and other assorted snack foods, while the fridge contained mostly sandwich fixings and a variety of drinks. Nothing substantial since dinner was usually ordered from one of the three restaurants in town, or leftovers from the ranch homestead that Harry brought home after a visit to his neighbors. The boss and his wife had taken a liking to the young man and had insisted he join their ranch hands for dinner at least twice a week, always sending him home with piles of food which he magically multiplied for the four agents back at the house.

Looking at the clock above the stove, she realized it was just about time for the cowboys to sit down for supper and decided her best bet would be to see if she could grab a plate to bring back home, and then duplicate it for Smith and the others, who her brain kept insisting would be back shortly. After setting Smith up with a can of soda, a bowl of pretzels, and the tv remote (which thankfully he’d used before, since she really didn’t have time to explain Muggle electronics at the moment), she headed down the long gravel path that would lead her to the home of her nearest neighbors.

As Hermione approached the homestead, she braced herself for the type of attention she’d been subjected to the evening before, but was pleasantly surprised to find the large dining room only occupied by one individual. The woman appeared to be in her mid-to-late fifties, with a kind face and a build similar to that of Molly Weasley. She looked up with a ready smile on her face as the door opened, though it took a moment for her to register the young woman before her.

“Ah, you must be the English cousin,” her smile grew wider and warmer as she came around the table, her hand extended in welcome. “I heard all about you this morning while settin’ out breakfast for the crew.” She chuckled and tilted her head in an invitation for Hermione to follow her to the kitchen, “The boys don’t often see a pretty girl here on the ranch, so you made quite a stir.”

Hermione’s cheeks flamed as she remembered the constant barrage of stares, winks, and pointed phrases that had been aimed her way, wondering if she should apologize for causing such a disruption, but the older woman chortled and patted her on the arm.

“Nothin’ to worry ‘bout, sweetie. They’re all pretty harmless. I’m Abigail, by the way. The boss’s wife.” Her smile took on an edge of pride as she tossed the dish towel she’d been carrying onto a wide butcher block and looked at Hermione expectantly, “Now, what can I do you for?”

“Well, I’m Hermione,” the petite brunette replied, “And I was hoping to grab a plate of food to take back to Harry’s. He’s gone for the day and there’s not much in the way of real food over there, and I don’t have a way to get…” but Abigail cut her off, flapping her hands and bustling over to the stove.

“Of course! No problem at all. Just give me a sec,” and she immediately began rifling through the cabinets for whatever she needed to get the job done. “How’re you findin’ it out here? Bit different from London, I expect?” she asked conversationally as she flitted about the good-sized kitchen.

“It’s beautiful,” Hermione answered without a second’s hesitation, “And yes, very different from home, but I’m enjoying it.” Her eyes widened when Abigail turned around and placed an armload of containers on the counter, all filled with whatever wonderful-smelling food was simmering on the stove. “Oh, I don’t need all that,” she began to protest but was waved off again.

“Nonsense. What you don’t finish today, you can have for leftovers. If Harry gets back in time for a late supper, he can eat, too. I swear, that boy must have a hollow leg for the amount of food he inhales whenever he’s over.”

Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle at the apt description of her best friend and knew he’d definitely appreciate the home-cooked meal. Abigail disappeared into a closet of some sort, and emerged with a large, low-sided box which she proceeded to fill with the containers. She tossed a bag of rolls and a stick of butter on top and looked between Hermione and the box for a moment as if wondering if it might be too heavy for the slight young woman to carry.

“You don’t happen to have any extra napkins, do you?” Of course Abigail did, and while she went to retrieve them, Hermione cast a silent weightless charm on the box and scooped it into her arms so she was ready to go. The boss’s wife looked mildly surprised to see her holding it, but simply tucked the napkins in the side and smiled.

“Thank you so much,” Hermione said appreciatively, “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all of this.”

“Anytime, sweetie! You’re welcome to pop down here whenever you like,” Abigail held the door open for her as she made her way out, then had a second thought and called out to her. “Do you want a ride? It’s a long way back, isn’t it?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine!” Hermione insisted, “Really! I enjoy walking, especially when I’m not surrounded by tall buildings and traffic.” She grinned and Abigail responded with an understanding smile, waving once more before heading back inside. Hermione caught a glimpse of several cowboys over by the barn and quickened her pace before they noticed her and tried to help her get home. Harry was adamant about not letting anyone not on the case into the house, since no one on the ranch knew he had other people staying with him. Even if there wasn’t such a rule, she didn’t really want the attention of any of the young men, no matter how nice or well-meaning they might be. No, truth be told, she really only wanted the attention of one particular cowboy but she refused to let her mind wander down that tricky path. They needed to close this case and get back home before she could even begin to figure out what her newly-realized feelings for Draco might mean.

She entered the farmhouse expecting to find Smith channel-surfing by himself, but instead was greeted by the sight of a winded and grimacing Harry pointing his wand at an unfamiliar man who had clearly been bound and silenced based on the way he was straining against invisible forces. Immediately setting the box on the nearest chair, Hermione also aimed her wand at the angry wizard, spelling all of his personal effects into her outstretched hand.

“Who is this?” she asked as a broken wand, a handgun, something that looked similar to a grenade, and a nasty-looking blade made themselves know.

“One of Laurant’s friends from the warehouse. We’ve got two more, as well. Boot and Malfoy should be arriving any second with them, but Malfoy’s been injured.”

Before she had a chance to ask exactly what kind of injury he was talking about, the air filled with an extra loud _CRACK_ as both Aurors appeared in the front room, each with a firm grip on another member of the criminal gang they’d stumbled upon. However, while Terry was red-faced and clearly exerting himself, Draco was a sickly shade of grey and barely upright. Hermione stunned the wizard he’d brought in and the tall blonde immediately crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

“What happened to him?” she asked her other teammates as she rushed to Draco’s side, not sure where to even begin looking for the damage since there didn’t seem to be any blood or curse marks on any visible part of him.

“He fell from the second-story scaffold in the warehouse,” Harry explained with a grim expression, “He’s got a broken leg and probably some broken ribs at the very least. Go ahead and levitate him to a bed, I’ll handle their effects.” He nodded towards the suspects and began summoning whatever might be hiding in the first one’s pockets.

Hermione didn’t need to be told twice and set about her task at once. She carefully floated a still-passed-out Draco into the room Smith had recently vacated. As he hovered in mid-air, she changed the sheets and fluffed the pillows before gently settling him onto the bed and removing his wand from his vice-like grip, placing it on the bedside table. Once he was situated, she ran a few basic diagnostic spells and discovered that not only had he completely shattered the bones in his lower left leg and ankle, but he had three broken ribs, two severely bruised ones, a small puncture in his spleen, and a dislocated shoulder. Apparently the left side of his body had taken the brunt of the impact and she was surprised the injuries weren’t more substantial considering the height he’d fallen from.

She was able to heal the puncture wound, shoulder, and ribs while he was still knocked out, but the bones in his leg were so fragmented she was going to have to regrow them, which meant he would have to take a large dose of Skele-Gro, and for that he would have to be awake. Before attempting to rouse him, she moved all of Agent Smith’s belongings off the bedside table and put them neatly on the dresser across the room. She set out the measured doses of both the regenerative draught and a pain potion so they’d be ready, and tried to make Draco as comfortable as possible by removing his shoes. Wiping his face with a damp cloth, she hoped the contact would wake him up instead of needing to use a spell, since that would only cause him to jerk and startle, resulting in more pain.

Thankfully, after just a few seconds, his eyelids fluttered open and he groaned as he regained his bearings.

“We’re back,” he croaked out as his pewter eyes took in the room, seeking her out at once.

“Yes,” she replied with a small smile, “And in a right state, too. I managed to fix most of your injuries, but you need to take some potions, starting with a dose of Skel-Gro for your leg.” He closed his eyes and nodded, clearly in a great deal of discomfort, so she didn’t waste any time explaining specifics and instead helped tilt his head forward so he could drink the horrid-tasting medicine. He gave a slight shudder once he’d finished and she immediately assisted him with a glass of water before offering the pain potion, which he took without protest. As his head fell back onto the pillow, she brushed his scruffy fringe off his forehead and ran her knuckles down his cheek before she registered what she was doing.

“You don’t seem to have a fever,” she said by way of covering up her actions, but the way his eyes were boring into hers when she met his gaze sucked the rest of her flimsy excuse right out of her. A familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth and his fingers clumsily wrapped around her hand as she asked, “How are you feeling?”

He blinked heavily, the pain potion clearly working its ways into his system quickly, “Right as rain, darlin’.” His drawl was even slower than he normally put on, but it still made her stomach flip. His eyes continued to roam across her features, “What does that even mean? How’s rain s’posed to feel anything?” His speech was getting sloppier by the second and she couldn’t help the soft giggle that emerged.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted.

“And what about buttons?” he asked, suddenly annoyed and she had no idea what he was talking about. Before she could ask, though, he went on, waving his other hand in a dismissive sort of way before letting it thump back down on the mattress, “They say ‘cute as a button,’ but how’s a button even cute?”

This time she laughed outright at the petulant look on his face. His brow was furrowed, his eyes almost closed, and his lips slightly downturned in an unmistakable pout. “You’re quite fond of all these local colloquialisms, aren’t you?”

“Big word,” he grumbled and shifted on his pillow and he forced his eyes to open a little more as they focused on her again, “Know what I’m fonder of?”

“More fond of, you mean?” she sniggered, trying not to let her heart run away over the fact that he was still holding her hand and gazing at her like she’d hung the moon.

“Yup,” he mumbled, his eyelids drooping again, “More fonder of you.”

Her breath hitched and she froze, her brain warring with itself between the logical explanation that he was heavily medicated and didn’t know what he was saying, and the overwhelming desire to hand her heart over to him on a silver platter. Instead, she settled for easing her hand out of his grasp and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead with a whisper.

“More fonder of you, too.”

ooOoo

Hermione walked back into the front room to find Agent Smith alone once more. He muted the tv and asked how Draco was before filling her in on what had taken place while she was tending to her teammate.

“Randolph showed up about a minute after you left with an entire arsenal of weapons he’d confiscated. Potter finished gathering their effects and laid ‘em on the table for you to bag,” he jutted his chin in the direction of the kitchen and she nodded in understanding so he would continue. “All three agents took the suspects into MACUSA, but Potter said he’d be back as soon as possible to collect all the evidence. They did take the weapons, though,” he shook his head as he said that last bit, heaving a sigh of relief and grimacing as it stretched his still-healing curse wound. “I haven’t seen anything like those pistols before. Hopefully we put an end to this whole scheme after today.”

“I hope so,” Hermione agreed, “Thank you for all the info. Is there anything I can get you? Anything you need?”

“Well,” Smith grinned rather sheepishly, “I’m kinda hungry, since we never got to eat, what with all that was going on.”

“Oh my goodness!” Hermione exclaimed, having completely forgotten about Abigail’s box-full of food as soon as the others had appeared. “I’m so sorry! I’ll get that right now,” she was already bustling about, grabbing the box and heading to the kitchen where she unpacked all nine containers and began filling a plate for Smith with a little bit of everything. The smell of roast chicken, potatoes, vegetables, and warm rolls filled the air and her stomach growled in response. She brought the full dish to the other agent before fixing a smaller one for herself and then increasing the amounts of everything so there would be more than enough left for whoever returned that night.

She took several bites, greatly appreciating Abigail’s skill and generosity, before turning her attention to the small piles of evidence that Harry had collected. She systematically worked her way through all of it, putting each item in a clear, plastic bag and labeling it accordingly. It had taken a few years, but she’d managed to convince the head of the DMLE to start employing some Muggle tricks of the trade, particularly when it came to the organization and collection of evidence and information. Though Auror Robards hadn’t come out and said it in so many words, she knew he was grudgingly thankful for the ideas she’d implemented as they made his job a little easier. She was just sealing up the last bag when the wards shimmered and all three of the men reappeared.

“Harry!” she turned to greet him and was glad to see a tired but genuine smile on her best friend’s face. That meant everything had gone well and they were successful. “Come eat, all of you,” she waved her wand and all the bags on the table floated into the empty box Abigail had given her, clearing off a surface for the wizards to sit at. They didn’t need a second invitation before sinking into the straight-backed chairs while she summoned the still-hot food, and enough dishes and flatware for the three of them.

Amidst lots of chewing and the clinking of silverware, Harry filled Hermione and Smith in on all that had happened. Apparently, while at the warehouse, a sizable battle broke out once the dark wizards figured out the Aurors were on site. Draco had been hiding upstairs and had emerged on a metal scaffolding that ran around the inside walls. The wizard he’d been tailing shot a nasty curse at him and while he’d succeeded in dodging it, he lost his footing and went over the railing. Thankfully, he’d landed on a stack of shipping palettes a little more than halfway down before hitting the floor, otherwise, a direct hit with the concrete would have done far more damage.

In the meantime, Harry had stunned the wizard who’d tried to kill Draco, and then turned his wand on a second suspect. Between himself, Terry, and Agent Randolph, they’d managed to get everyone rounded up. Draco was conscious enough to get back to the farmhouse, giving Randolph time to gather the weapons.

“Is that all of them, then?” Smith asked, standing under his own power for the first time since he’d been brought in earlier that day. He grunted at the effort, but was steady on his feet as he walked towards the kitchen to refill his glass.

“Far as we know,” Harry responded, taking off his glasses and scrubbing his face with his hands, clearly worn out from the day’s events.

“If you’re feeling up to it, we can take our evidence in and head home?” Randolph asked his partner, hopefulness clearly evident in his tone and expression.

“Sure,” Smith replied before turning to Hermione, “Do you know where my wand and badge are?”

“Yes,” she jumped up and walked quickly to the room Draco was occupying, entering as silently as possible to find him still sound asleep. She gathered Smith’s things and brought them back out to him as he and Randolph were getting the rest of their files and equipment together. Once everything had been accounted for and shrunk down to fit into one small duffel bag, everyone shook hands and expressed thanks for the combined efforts before the two MACUSA agents disappeared with a loud _CRACK_.

“How’s Malfoy?” Terry asked as he helped himself to a second serving of everything.

“Sleeping. I gave him Skele-Gro for his leg; the bone was crushed to splinters. I’m amazed that was the only substantial injury.”

“Nothing else broke?” Harry sounded shocked.

“Three ribs, but I was able to mend those, along with the puncture in his spleen. He also had a dislocated shoulder and several other ribs were bruised. I’m sure he’ll have some soreness and swelling left over from that, but his leg was the worst of it.” She worried her lower lip, wondering how long before the effects of the pain potion wore off.

“I’m sure he’ll recover in no time,” Harry said confidently and Terry nodded in agreement. Hermione gave a small smile and started straightening up what remained of their evidence and supplies from Aiolos’ capture, knowing it would all need to be brought back to headquarters as soon as possible.

“So what’s the plan now?” Terry asked as he leaned back in his chair, stretching and groaning in contentment from his full stomach and tired muscles.

“We’ll need to bring everything in, and then come back to clear out the farmhouse for good. I’ll also need to stop by the homestead to give an excuse to the ranchers for Draco’s absence and my own departure.”

“What are you going to tell them?” Hermione was curious.

“We decided awhile back to say that Draco and Aiolos had both decided to move on, which isn’t uncommon for a cowboy, and since they seemed to spend a lot of their free time together while Draco was tailing him, it wouldn’t be that far-fetched.”

“What about you?” Terry asked.

“I don’t think it will come as any surprise to them that I’ve decided I’m not quite cut out for ranch life,” Harry chuckled and both of them joined in. “I’ll tell them I’m putting the house up for sale, but they’ll forget it was ever here.” He winked and they understood his meaning.

“What do you need us to do?” Hermione looked around the room, wondering where all the furniture and household items would go.

“Nothing tonight,” yawned her raven-haired friend, “I’m wiped and I have no intention of going anywhere besides the shower and bed till long after the sun rises.”

“Too right,” Terry agreed, pushing his chair back and starting to collect dishes and containers from the table. Hermione rose to do the same and decided to fix a plate for Draco in case he woke up and was hungry.

As Terry headed upstairs, Harry approached her with a knowing look on his face, “You need to get some sleep, too.”

“I will,” she promised while trying to avoid his skeptical gaze, “I’ll stay down here, though, in case he wakes up. He’s going to need another dose of pain potion at least once more before the process is over.”

Green eyes simply studied her for a few seconds before he nodded and pulled her into a one-armed hug. As he started walking towards the stairs, his voice trailed back over his shoulder.

“You know, I think he’s missed you since we’ve been out here.”

ooOoo

Hermione had no idea what to make of Harry’s comment, or why he’d even said it. It’s not like she ever admitted to having any sort of attachment to the tall blonde; they were only ever friends. At least until now, but she wasn’t sure what exactly they were now, either. She was definitely attracted to him, and could easily compile a list of things she liked and appreciated about him, but it didn’t amount to much if it was all one-sided.

_He said he was fond of me._

She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged on her lips as she recalled his potion-addled confession. If she was being completely honest with herself, she wanted it to be true. She thought back to the way he’d looked at her when he’d walked her to the farmhouse the night before and how her stomach had done backflips over how close he was and how handsome he looked. Still, that didn’t amount to anything, really, and she needed to prepare herself for the disappointing possibility that he was just being his usual friendly, flirtatious self.

Deciding that sleep was not going to help her over-active brain at the moment, she set about organizing all of their equipment and supplies so they’d be ready for Harry to take back as soon as he wanted to go. She also packed up all of the nonperishable food items, paper supplies, and medical kit, except for what she thought Draco might still need. Once all that was done, she decided to check on him before taking a shower and found him still dead to the world. She refilled his water glass and left another vial of pain potion next to it on the nightstand, hoping that if he did wake up, he’d be coherent enough to take it if he needed to. Casting a diagnostic spell once more, she was pleased to find all his injuries were healed except for the bones in his leg, which were about a quarter of the way regrown. At this rate, the process should be completed around noon the next day.

Slipping back out of his room, she tiptoed quietly upstairs to the bedroom she’d been occupying. With a wave of her wand, everything she’d brought with her zoomed out of the drawers and closet and landed on her bed. She packed everything in her bag, aside from what she needed at the moment, and went to take her shower. When she finished, she tossed the remaining items in her duffel and brought the whole lot downstairs to the room across from Draco’s so she could finish getting dressed and drying her hair nearby. She had just managed to get the last tangles out of her still-damp curls when she heard a crash and raced down the hall. The water glass had shattered on the floor, and a grumpy-looking wizard was scowling at it from the bed.

“Here, let me,” she repaired the glass at once and refilled it, holding it out to him while simultaneously pushing him back more fully onto the bed. His head landed on the pillow with a muffled thud and he grunted. “How are you feeling? Do you need more pain meds?”

He shook his head and his still-heavy lids fluttered open, “Just thirsty,” he rasped.

She sat down beside him and helped him tilt his head up enough to drink more. Seeing how difficult it was for him, she twirled her wand and a plastic bendy-straw materialized in front of her. She plunked it into the glass and held it up for him to try that instead. His brow furrowed for a second before he opened his mouth and allowed her to put the straw between his lips. Pleased with the fact that he could keep his head on the pillow, he took several long pulls before releasing the plastic tube and giving her a lopsided smirk.

“Always the problem-solver, aren’t you?” he teased, his words still slow and sloppy.

“Mmhmm,” she smirked back, “Can I get you anything?”

He shook his head and his eyes closed once more. She took that as her cue to leave, but as she shifted to get off the bed, he bumped her arm with the back of his hand.

“Stay,” he mumbled.

Her heart skipped a beat and she couldn’t have moved even if she wanted to. It felt like every fiber of her being was rooted to the spot. She cleared her throat quietly and set the glass back on the nightstand.

“Ok,” she breathed, and if she hadn’t been watching his face so intently, she would have missed the way the corner of his mouth hitched up in a sleepy smile.

She sat there for quite some time, not moving, simply watching him. He had drifted back into a deep sleep and she was sure he wouldn’t notice if she left, but she didn’t want to. Instead, she allowed herself to study him in a way she’d never given herself permission to before. It wasn’t a simple inventory of his features, though, but more of a recollection of all the things she had noticed about him over time. His eyes were closed, but she knew exactly what shade of slate-grey they were, and his eyelashes were long and dark and the memory of him looking at her through them sent a shiver up her spine. His cheekbones were still well-defined, as was his jawline, but not nearly as pointy as they had been in his youth. She knew he had a dimple on his left cheek that appeared when he smirked or smiled, though it was slightly hidden by the scruff of a beard he had as part of his cowboy persona.

His hair was a darker shade of blonde than usual, and like the beard, scruffier than he typically kept it. It was still thick and mostly straight, though the edge around his collar turned up a bit, and the front often flopped over his right eye. She liked this less-perfect look on him, but did miss his trademark platinum locks. Once again, before she realized what she was doing, she reached out and brushed the fringe back. He turned his face in his sleep, catching her hand between his cheek and the pillow. Her breath caught and she had a moment of panic, wondering what would happen if he woke up and found her draped across him like this, even though it wasn’t entirely her fault that she was stuck in her current position.

She waited a few heartbeats, making sure he was truly sound asleep, before sliding her hand out from beneath his face. He didn’t move again, so she surmised that this would be a good time to go dry her hair, which was starting to give her the chills. Refilling his glass once more, and pulling the quilt up a little higher on his chest, she turned and tiptoed out of the room.

Back in her own space, she used her wand to blow warm air through her still-damp curls, finished getting ready, and packed the rest of her belongings before heading to the kitchen for a cup of tea. As she stood by the counter fixing a steaming mug of Earl Grey, she was hit with a wave of exhaustion – the kind that comes on the heels of a stressful and emotionally exhausting day. Instead of curling up on the couch as she’d originally planned, she went back to the room across from Draco’s and crawled on top of the neatly-made bed, pulling the heavy quilt that had been folded across the end up around her. She’d left her door open, as well as his, so she knew she’d hear him if he needed anything or tried to get up, and made sure to leave a low light on so she wouldn’t be scrabbling around in the dark if she woke in a hurry. At last, she let tiredness overtake her and fell into a deep sleep at once.

ooOoo

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open and at first she wasn’t sure where she was or what had woken her. She blearily took in her surroundings and the events of the day before came back to her. She cast a _tempus_ charm and found that it was just after five o’clock in the morning, which meant she’d been asleep for over four hours. As she swung her legs over the side of the bed, she heard the quiet noise of sheets rustling and bedsprings creaking from across the hall and quickly made her way into the other room. Draco was sitting up and trying to rearrange his pillows without moving the lower half of his body too much, a grimace on his face proving that his leg was still not completely mended.

“Hey,” she greeted him softly, swiftly moving to his side and helping the process along. He settled back, letting out a long sigh that ended in a low groan. “Have you taken any more pain meds?” She glanced at the bedside table and saw the vile still full. He shook his head and winced, clearly uncomfortable.

Grabbing the tiny flask, she uncorked it and held it to his lips. He took it without protest, which showed her just how miserable he really must be feeling, and she immediately offered the straw so he could take a drink of water. After several long sips, he let his head fall back on the pillow and closed his eyes. She knew he wasn’t asleep, as the potion didn’t work that quickly, but she could also tell from the deep, slow breaths he was taking that he was trying to manage the pain until it kicked in. Her heart squeezed and she felt terribly useless, unable to do any more for him at the moment.

“Can I get you anything else?” she asked as she set the glass back down and vanished the empty vial. Hopefully it was the last he’d need before the Skele-Gro finished its job. He turned his head to face her and simply looked at her for several seconds without speaking. His pewter gaze roamed across her face as if he was memorizing her features, and a small lopsided smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He lifted his hand from the mattress and placed it on top of hers, which she hadn’t even realized she’d placed on his chest.

“No,” he said quietly, “But thank you.”

Her cheeks felt hot and her stomach did gymnastics as she nodded and dropped her eyes to the patchwork quilt covering the bed, unable to withstand the heat behind his stare. He was heavily medicated and she shouldn’t make anything out of his words or expressions just now, no matter how badly she wanted to. She gave another small nod, partly in acknowledgement of his appreciation, and partly to solidify her determination not to read too much into anything that had transpired in recent hours, and made to stand up.

“Don’t go,” his grip on her hand tightened.

Her eyes did fly up to his then, her brows raised in question. The potion hadn’t fully kicked in yet, she knew, and he was much more aware than he’d been the last time he’d asked her to stay, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. Seeing her hesitation, he patted his other hand on the empty side of the double bed.

“Stay,” he looked imploringly at her and she knew she’d never refuse him, “Please.”

So she did. Sliding off the side she’d been perched on, Hermione walked around the bed to the opposite side where she carefully climbed up next to him, trying her best not to jostle him too much or cause more pain. Whether she did or not, his face didn’t show it as his eyes remained fixed on her every move. She stayed on top of the quilt, but pulled the soft blanket that had been draped over the foot of the bed up around herself and turned on her side so she was facing him, though there were still several inches between them.

Draco reached down between them and found her hand, drawing it up to his chest he gave her another sleepy smile as his eyes drifted shut and his breathing deepened. She watched him for a few minutes before inching a little closer and resting her cheek against his arm before joining him in peaceful slumber.

ooOoo

Several hours later, Hermione woke to the sound of someone trying to quietly come down the stairs but failing miserably, and knew it was her best friend. As quickly and silently as she could, she slipped off the bed, making sure Draco was still sound asleep, before heading out into the front room. Harry had just reached the bottom of the creaking steps when she appeared and greeted her with a well-rested grin.

“Morning,” he greeted in a loud whisper, “How’s Malfoy?”

“Sleeping, which is good,” she replied. “He woke up twice during the night, but seems to be mending well. Took a second dose of pain potion about three hours ago, so he should still be out for at least another two.”

Harry nodded, “Boot is getting packed. Soon as he’s ready, we’re going to take all the evidence and supplies back into headquarters. It will probably take us several hours to get everything sorted, which means I won’t be back here till sometime this afternoon. Will you be alright out here alone?”

“Technically, I’m not alone,” she tilted her head in the direction of Draco’s room, “But even if I was, I’d be fine.”

“I haven’t said anything to the ranchers yet, was planning to wait and do that after I got back, so if you need anything, you can still go to the homestead. Just pretend you don’t know where Draco is.”

“Okay,” she nodded in understanding, “I don’t think we’ll need anything, but I’ll make sure I don’t say anything.” Hermione looked past Harry into the kitchen, “Do you want breakfast? Or coffee at least?”

“Did we have any of Abigail’s blackberry cobbler left from last night?” he asked hopefully and she couldn’t help the chuckle that left her lips.

“Yes, I’ll heat it up and make a pot of coffee. I’m sure Terry will want to eat, too.”

True enough, the other wizard was more than happy to accept the bowl of warm dessert and a steaming mug of coffee from her when he came downstairs several minutes later. The trio discussed the specifics of what still needed to be done, and then set about gathering up everything that needed to travel with them, which wasn’t too difficult a task since Hermione had organized it all the night before.

With a promise to return as soon as possible, Harry disapparated with the usual CRACK, followed immediately by Terry, and Hermione was once again left to her own devices while a wounded agent healed in the back bedroom. Knowing her childhood friend intended to empty the house of virtually everything, she decided she’d get started on the process. After casting the charm that would alert her to Draco’s rousing, she went upstairs to start working on the bedrooms. Conjuring a medium-sized cardboard box, she entered the room that Harry had been using and began shrinking the furniture down to dollhouse size, and placing it in the box.

She had finished two of the bedrooms and was starting on the third when her wand buzzed, alerting her to the fact that Draco was awake. She set a tiny chest of drawers in the almost-full box and headed downstairs to see how he was faring. By the time she reached his room, he had already managed to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed, and looked like he was about to stand up.

“Hey, slow down there, cowboy,” she teased as she rushed to offer support, grabbing his arm and looping it around her shoulders as she wrapped her own around his waist.

Draco’s eye-roll and huff of impatience turned into a wince and a stifled groan as he put his weight on the newly-healed leg. He stood very still for a second or two, slowly leaning more to the left, putting more pressure on the regrown bones. Hermione simply stayed by his side, waiting patiently for him to complete his assessment before demanding to run another diagnostic over him to make sure all was well. He sat back down for her to do that, but refused to lay flat, saying he was tired of not being upright. She chuckled at his petulant scowl and let him remain seated on the edge of the bed as she waved her wand over his previously-injured areas.

“Everything looks good,” she said as a bright green glow emanated from his lower leg, “All your other injuries were healed almost immediately, and your leg seems to be back to normal now, too.” She glanced up at him and found his molten stare pinned on her once more, but this time it wasn’t the least bit hazy from sleep or medication. Her heart stuttered and her stomach felt like a dozen butterflies were trying to escape as she took in his familiar features, her eyes settling on his lips which he’d pressed together as if trying to fight a smile.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, trying to shift his attention off herself before she did something foolish.

Something flashed in his grey eyes before he answered with a lopsided smirk, “I am, actually.”

“Think you can walk out to the kitchen? I’ll fix you a bowl of cobbler and some coffee,” she offered, trying her damndest not to blush or fidget or give away exactly how inexplicably nervous she was.

_What in Helga’s name is wrong with me?_

“Pretty sure I can manage it, darlin’,” he drawled in his slow, affected accent and she just about melted into a puddle right there on the floor.

“Okay,” she squeaked and made a beeline for the safety of the kitchen where she spent the 6.5 seconds it took for him to arrive with her face in the fridge, trying to cool off. As she heard him approach, she pulled out a carton of milk and busied herself with fixing his breakfast.

“Do you want your cobbler heated? I can stick it in the microwave,” she asked without looking at him, knowing full-well she’d just wind up ogling him again.

“Sure,” he replied from behind her, “I like things heated.”

She put the bowl in and shut the door, only to spin around and find him standing much closer than she’d thought and her eyes flew wide at the sudden proximity of the tall, broad-shouldered, and ridiculously handsome wizard. He was watching her with calculated amusement, the corner of his mouth twitching, his eyes sparkling with the same something she'd seen earlier. They stood there, mere inches apart for what seemed like an eternity until the microwave dinged.

“You’re cobbler’s ready,” she said in an almost-whisper, her eyes still locked on his, “Do you want it?”

He took a step towards her, covering the last bit of distance between them, a slightly nervous look flitting across his face, “Oh, I want something.” He reached his hand up and slid it around the side of her face so his palm was resting against her cheek and his fingers were sunk into her curls. She instinctively leaned into his touch, her eyelids fluttering slightly and that seemed to be enough of an invitation for him to lean in and press his lips to hers.

The kiss was soft and tentative, like he was afraid of breaking whatever might be between them and he pulled away far too soon for her liking. When she opened her eyes, she found him looking at her with a mildly fearful expression, as though he was afraid she’d be upset or angry. Unable to form a coherent thought at the moment, she decided to put his mind at ease by grabbing the front of his plaid, flannel shirt and pulling him gently back to her. This time, when their lips met it wasn’t timid or careful, but heated and insistent as she dug her fingers into his scruffy blonde locks, and he wrapped one arm tightly around her waist while cradling the back of her head with his other hand.

The microwave beeped again, reminding the otherwise-occupied couple that they still hadn’t retrieved their food and they broke apart, both rather dazed and winded from their little snogging session.

Draco grinned sheepishly as he tucked a curl behind her ear, “Been wanting to do that for a while now.”

“Really?” Hermione asked, surprised by this admission but extremely pleased to hear it.

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled and she was mortified by the tiny gasp that left her as a shiver ran up her spine, and even more so by the fact that he clearly heard it because his eyes widened for a split second before narrowing shrewdly.

“You wouldn’t, by any chance, have a thing for cowboys, would you?” he teased in a low voice, his brow arched.

Her cheeks flamed and she ducked her head and mumbled, “Maybe.” Peering up at him through her lashes, she gathered her courage and amended that thought, “Really, just one cowboy.”

A laugh rumbled through him as he pulled her into an embrace, his arms wrapped around her shoulders and his chin resting on top of her head as she pressed her cheek to the soft cotton of his shirt and looped her fingers together behind his back.

“I’ll have to remember that once we’re home.”

“Oh, really?”

“Obviously. It will be my secret weapon, my surefire way to win arguments and get you to agree to any request,” he chuckled and then yelped as she poked him in the side.

“It’s not nice to use someone’s weaknesses against them,” she mumbled from inside his hold.

“Well, seeing as you’ve been mine for quite some time now, I’m just happy to have a card to play for once.”

“What?” she pulled back so she could see his face, confused surprise clearly etched across her own, “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, “I’ve wanted to ask you out for ages, but it just never seemed like the right time. Then we came out here, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Decided that the next time I saw you, I’d make a move and see what happened.”

“Really?” she was gobsmacked by this revelation, but now their interaction when he’d walked her back after supper made sense.

He met her wide eyes with a warm smile, “Yes, really. Is that alright with you?” His brow furrowed in concern as he waited for her response.

Again, instead of putting her chaotic thoughts into words, she stretched up on tiptoe and kissed him, melting against him as he responded. The microwave beeped again.

“You really should eat something,” she murmured against his lips and he huffed in resignation.

“Fine, but you’ll join me?”

“Of course! Wouldn’t want Abigail’s delicious efforts to go to waste.”

The two settled into chairs at the little wooden table, and Hermione began filling him in on everything that had transpired since he’d been konked out in the back bedroom. They chatted comfortably, but now there was a level of giddy anticipation for what this new development in their relationship could mean, and it presented itself in the shy smiles and stolen glances that punctuated much of their conversation.

By the time they’d both enjoyed two helpings of cobbler and two cups of coffee, their chairs were much closer to each other, and Draco was holding Hermione’s hand while drawing lazy circles on the back of it with his thumb. It was this sight that greeted Harry as he appeared in the front room with the usual _CRACK_ of apparition, and he froze in place as he registered what he was seeing. His gaze flickered from his best friend to his best agent and down to their entwined hands several times before he simply nodded his head and asked if there was any more coffee.

They spent the next several hours packing up the rest of the farmhouse, and once they were done, Harry headed over to the homestead to say goodbye and magically tie up any loose ends. It was late afternoon as Hermione walked out the back door of the farmhouse, wanting to take in the peaceful surroundings one last time before she returned to the hustle and bustle of city life. The creek was still flowing with a steady current, the water rippling over the rocks and filling the air with a pleasant sound. She sat down next to the same tree on the bank and watched the fluid movement as a gentle breeze floated through the leaves above her, enjoying the quiet and allowing herself to replay the moments she’d recently shared with Draco in her mind. She didn’t want to get ahead of herself, but the connection she felt with him was stronger than she’d been prepared for and she knew her heart was already seriously attached.

_Merlin, I hope he feels the same._

A short while later, the subject of her daydream exited the house as well, and she turned to watch him walk across the backyard, still rather amazed by his earlier admission, but blissfully happy about it at the same time. He was wearing his black Stetson again and as he strode towards her purposefully, his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face, she just about swooned, and wanted to smack herself for it. He squatted down next to her, still smiling.

“What’re you doing?” he asked curiously.

“Just enjoying how quiet and calm it is here,” she smiled back, fighting to breathe normally.

He nodded, “I’ve grown quite fond of that, too.” He looked around as if searching for something, then returned his gaze to her, “Can I show you something?”

“Of course,” she tilted her head in question as he stood and held out his hand to her. She took it at once and got to her feet beside him. They walked around the house and met up with the gravel drive, strolling at a leisurely pace and talking about the piles of work that surely awaited them back home. A little more than halfway between the farmhouse and the homestead stood a large barn and Draco veered off the path towards it, tugging her gently along with him.

“Where are we going?” she asked curiously, wondering if it was wise to tread so close to the ranch when he was supposed to be long gone.

“It’s Monday, so the hands are still out in the west pasture, farthest from here, which is convenient because I want to head east,” as he explained, they reached the barn and Hermione found herself in a large stable containing at least twenty stalls. Above each door was a metal sign with a name engraved on it, and Draco led her to one marked “Hank.” As they drew nearer, a horse poked its head over the half-door and a grin broke out on the tall blonde’s face.

“Hey there, Hank,” he said quietly as he patted the horses muzzle. He entered the stall and set about saddling the chestnut horse while alternating between explaining things to Hermione and talking to the large animal.

“The boss has a serious liking for country music, so all his horses are named after singers,” he waved his hand towards the other stalls, almost all of which were empty, and touted names like “Travis,” “Garth,” “Dolly,” “Kenny,” and “Trisha.” Hermione couldn’t help but smile at the whole thing, especially the sight of the normally-reserved Pureblood positively fawning all over his four-legged friend as he gathered the tack and saddled him up.

“Hank here is brilliant. Knows exactly where to go without me having to do a thing. Almost like he can read my mind,” he ran his hand down the sleek, deep brown coat with a wistful look on his face. “He’s what I’ll miss the most about this place,” he admitted, finding Hermione’s eyes on him as he turned and gave a sheepish grin, “I’m seriously considering getting one.”

“Getting one?” she was confused for a second, “A horse, you mean?”

He shrugged, “Why not? The manor’s grounds are certainly large enough, and it would force me to spend more time over there, which would thrill my mother to no end.” He shook his head, “It’s just a thought.”

“Well, if it would make you happy, then you should get one,” she said supportively.

He flashed his trademark smirk and strode over so he was right in front of her, “Know what would make me happy right now?” Her heart skipped as she gazed up at him, arching a brow in question. He didn’t answer, but instead slung his arm around her waist and pulled her to him, brushing her lips with his before whispering in her ear, “Taking you for a ride.”

She couldn’t even begin to describe the swooping sensation that started in her stomach and dipped all the way to her toes, and didn’t care if he heard the tiny squeak that escaped as the breath rushed out of her when he kissed her again. Suddenly, she felt as if the world was tilting and a split second later, she realized her feet really had left the ground as he scooped her up and hoisted her into the saddle. He swung himself up behind her with enviable grace and shifted the two of them a little until they were both comfortable.

Hermione was still a little breathless from the last several seconds, and her eyes widened at how far below her the ground now seemed to be. Reflexively, she leaned back against Draco, relieved to find the solid wall of him and feeling much better about her new position. He brought his arms around either side of her, gathering the reins and after a series of small motions and noises, they were off. Hank walked them slowly through the barn and out the door, where the sun was shining in the cloudless sky.

“So, where are you taking me?” she asked as she relaxed into him, enjoying the easy sway of the horse’s gait and the feeling of being surrounded by Draco.

“My absolute favorite spot on the ranch,” he revealed.

“What makes it your favorite?”

“Hmmm,” he mused, “Well, the view for one, which you’ll see for yourself, but it’s more than that. It’s pretty quiet and peaceful out here all the time, but for some reason this particular spot seems to offer even more of that.”

“It sounds lovely,” she murmured and he hummed in response. They rode in comfortable silence for a short while, the vast open plains spread out around them in all directions. Even though it didn’t seem like it, they had been gradually climbing a rolling hill in the pasture, and at the very top stood a tree, which was where Hank seemed to be taking them.

As they crested the hill, the horse stopped in the shade of the ancient maple and Hermione’s breath caught. The slope in front of them was much steeper and led to a valley where a river wound its way through several small groups of trees until it disappeared around the side of another hill. In the very far distance stood a mountain range in stark relief against the bright blue expanse above. It looked like a painting, or a postcard, and she could physically feel a sense of calm and tranquility roll over her. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes as the breeze toyed with her curls and the scent of wildflowers danced around her.

Draco leaned down and rested his chin on her shoulder, his cheek against hers, tightening his arms around her waist as they sat there enjoying each other’s nearness in such a beautiful place.

“Did you come here often?” Hermione asked softly.

“A few times a week. Sometimes because it’s where we brought the herd, but every once in a while I’d ride out here by myself after we’d finished for the day, or when I had an afternoon off.”

“I can see why.”

“I thought of you every time,” he said, and she shifted so she could see his face better.

“Really?”

“Mmhmm,” he nodded, his cheeks going slightly pink as he spilled his secret, “The first time I caught this view, all I could think was ‘Hermione would love this,’ and from that point on, you were always on my mind when I came out here.” He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her temple, “You were on my mind other times, too, but out here is where I let myself imagine,” he trailed off and cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed by his admission.

“Imagine what?” she pressed, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. She’d never seen him so flustered and she wasn’t about to let him off the hook. Not after how he’d literally swept her off her feet earlier.

He huffed a sigh, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to distract the naturally curious witch in his embrace. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and was momentarily taken in by the curve of her lips and the sparkle in her wide brown eyes. The urge to kiss her was overwhelming, but he knew she’d continue to pester him so he figured he’d best get on with it.

“Imagine what it would be like to be here with you, to have you in my arms, to pursue something more than just friendship,” he turned and met her gaze fully and decided to throw caution to the wind, “To find out if you feel even half as strongly about me as I do about you, because I’m in pretty deep, Hermione, and every second I spend with you just pulls me under a little more.”

Her eyes widened under his silver stare and her heart felt like it was trying to climb up her throat. She’d never had someone look at her the way Draco was; with such intense longing and open honesty, and in that moment she felt the world shift again. She reached up and cupped his jaw with her hand and pulled his face to hers, meeting his lips with a soft sigh and a feeling of pure contentment. When they broke apart, she smiled at him and caressed his cheek once more before turning forward in the saddle again and resting back against him.

“Take me home, cowboy,” she giggled, and he tightened his arms around her, holding her close as he nudged Hank into movement. As they headed towards the homestead, his slow drawl floated back on the breeze.

“Yes, ma’am."

ooOoo

This fantastic image was created by one of my lovely readers, [QuinTalon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuinTalon)! 

”

**Author's Note:**

> All right, y'all, this might just be the cheesiest, most ridiculous story I've ever written. If you've read my other fics, you'll know I typically stay pretty much within magical confines. While this one is still most definitely entrenched in the Wizarding World, the setting is far more Muggle than usual. Ever since I started my Country Magic series, I've had an image of Draco as a cowboy in the back of my mind, but no story to go along with it. Until now. This fic is very loosely inspired by the Dixie Chicks' songs "Wide Open Spaces," and "Cowboy Take Me Away." It wound up being far too long to include in that series, so it's just a lengthy o/s. I hope you enjoy it and that it puts a smile on your face :) Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
